


Maternal Instincts

by randomostrichchocolates, Styx_in_the_mud



Series: Chance Encounters [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Baked Goods, F/F, F/M, Fenris Needs a Hug, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Merrill has strong values, Minor Character Death, Poor Alistair gets a dressing down of epic proportions, Somebody help Anders, Team as Family, These babies need a mom around, Wine moms, and Aveline needs a break, because we're not cruel, but only canon stuff, he and wynne are parent friends, no but really angst angst sometimes, of the anonymous variety, protective!varric, someone protect Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomostrichchocolates/pseuds/randomostrichchocolates, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styx_in_the_mud/pseuds/Styx_in_the_mud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wynne came to Kirkwall on official business, so finding Alistair sitting in a bar wasn't exactly what she was expecting.  She wasn't expecting him to have thrown his lot in with Hawke and her friends either, or that somehow she would be dragged into this mess. On the bright side, it feels nice to be team mom again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wynne Goes into Mommy Mode

**Author's Note:**

> So R and I thought it would be fun to write the sequel to BBB and the prequel at the same time. We say that like we actually made a conscious decision, but no, it just sort of happened. Anyway, here's Wynne with a whole new group of lost souls to mother. -Styx

Kirkwall wasn’t so different from Denerim, Wynne thought, as she made her way past merchants hawking their wares in the Hightown marketplace. The similar sights and sounds made it seem almost as if she’d never left Fereldan. All it was missing was the smell of wet dog. After refusing to take the position of first enchanter, the newly instated queen Anora had appointed her a court advisor, and while the role came with many perks, including the freedom to move about as she wished, it came with several responsibilities as well, not the least of which was acting as an ambassador to foreign circles.

The mage sighed as she continued walking with a singular purpose. This was hardly the first time she had had to act in her official capacity, but it was certainly the most trying. Her Majesty had called meeting with her and the Chancellor few weeks prior, explaining that she had some reports of unrest in the Kirkwall Circle. Aeducan, or Chancellor Aeducan, though she hated it when her friends called her by such a title, had suggested that Wynne go and investigate. The Uldred incident was still fresh in their minds, even years later. This was how Wynne found herself on a boat to the Free Marches with instructions to stay for as long as necessary, staff strapped to her back and her official documents kept securely in a pouch strapped to her waist. Kirkwall wasn’t exactly known for their hospitality towards mages.

Her first stop as she made her way out of the docks was the Gallows, a stately structure that befitted its ominous name. There she had what was probably one of the tensest meetings of her life, and she had been present for the Landsmeet.  During her time in Kinloch Hold, it was not uncommon to see the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arguing over something or another, in the First Enchanter’s study, the corridors, the library, or anywhere else in the circle tower really. First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith made Irving and Gregoir seem like the best of friends. Meredith had hard eyes and a determined set to her jaw, and while she couldn’t be described as courteous, she was at the very least civil during their discussions. Orsino was younger than Irving, though he carried himself with the same presence, and seemed to be of a rather good natured sort, though his frustration at the current mage-templar situation could easily be seen. Both had assured her that the current tensions between the two groups wouldn’t lead to anything nearly as disastrous as what occurred in Fereldan. Wynne wasn’t entirely convinced, especially when Orsino stayed behind a few moments after the meeting to urge her to discuss the matter with the Grand Cleric.

***

Wynne had always loved the chantry, no matter which city she found herself in. Even in the Circle Tower, the chapel had been one of her favorite places. There was something immensely reassuring about the low candle light and soft murmurings of prayer which surrounded her as she entered. She found a chantry sister who seemed to be idle and requested an audience with the grand cleric. She was lead to a room to the side, where she was met by a woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile.

“Ah, our visitor from the Fereldan Circle.”

“Were you expecting me, Grand Cleric?”

“I was informed of your arrival. Please, take a seat.”

Wynne lowered herself into the offered chair, and the Grand Cleric Elthina offered her another smile.

“You seem troubled.”

“These have been troubling times.”

“And you have been very much involved, haven’t you Wynne.”

Wynne nodded slowly “I fear that things will only get worse as time passes.”

The Grand Cleric inclined her head, a willing audience, as Wynne, unable to help herself, spilled out her worries for the time ahead. The two spoke for well over an hour, and at the end of it, Wynne was offered a place to stay within the chantry walls and invited to return to talk anytime. It wasn’t until she was being shown to her room that she realized that she had never asked Elthina what she intended to do about the circle.

***

Wynne finally did get the Chantry’s opinion on the conflict after several visits with Elthina. By now, there was none but the most basic sense of formality between them, to the point where they were addressing each other by name, rather than title. Elthina, it turned out, seemed to prefer to be neutral party, understanding both sides of the conflict and choosing not to intervene for one or the other. There was a time, back before Ostagar and Uldred and the Landsmeet and the blight, when she would have agreed with her. But now, well now, she had her doubts. She kept these to herself though, and merely took another sip of her tea, moving the conversation back to more pleasant topics.

***

None of her companions in Fereldan knew, but Wynne had been a mother once. She never got to see her baby, he was taken away from her as soon as he was born, but still, she had been a mother and she supposed those instincts never really faded. She knew Team Warden, as Alistair had once dubbed them, all considered her to be the group mother, and she was oddly proud of that title. She was the healer, the councilor, and the protector, and when her friends were hurting, she was hurting. She had felt it most acutely when Alistair had left them all, spitting angry, bitter words at the woman he claimed to love. She watched him storm out of the assembly, shoulders straighter than she’d ever seen and not a falter in his step. She’d seen the despair on Tabris’ face as she struggled to hold back tears, the shock and outrage on Aeducan’s as her grip tightened on her sheathed sword as though she was wishing she could run the man through, the incredulity and betrayal on Leliana’s which was mirrored with slightly less intensity on Zevren’s, and her heart had broken. Her friends (her _children_ ) were hurting, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Elthina, she realized was also a mother of sorts, or at least she considered herself one to all the brothers and sisters of the chantry, as well as every other lost soul who entered its doors looking for guidance. Their conversations would often turn to their “children”. This was how Wynne came to learn of Sebastian, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven, who was filled with anger and thirst for revenge, and who seemed to be calming down after being adopted into the company of a charismatic young woman named Hawke. Listening to Elthina tell their exploits with a little exasperation coloring her voice always left Wynne with a smile on her face and an ache in her chest.

***

The Chantry had almost become a second home by now, and their daily chats now occurred at a regular hour, and were a refreshing reprieve from dealing with Meredith and Orsino all day long. Wynne had just poured the tea, when there was a tentative knock on the door.

“Come in” called Elthina.

The young man who entered had red hair, blue eyes, and a vaguely guilty expression. He was dressed in shining white armor and had a bow strapped to his back.

“I apologize if I’m interrupting something Grand Cleric”

“Not at all Sebastian. This is Wynne our guest from the Fereldan Circle.”

Sebastian nodded politely in her direction, and she smiled at him.

“I just came to ask for leave this evening.” he paused for a moment, struggling for the right words “my, er, appearance is requested in Lowtown.”

“Oh?” asked Elthina, inclining her head “by Hawke, I presume?”

“Yes, and Alistair as well.”

Wynne’s head snapped up at the name, and she fixed Sebastian with a piercing look. She tried to keep her face impassive. There was a distinct possibility that it wasn’t the same Alistair. There had to be hundreds of Alistairs in Fereldan alone. Sebastian shifted nervously under her gaze.

“This Alistair, is he a tall, blonde young man with a rather ridiculous sense of humor.”

“He could be described that way, yes.”

Wynne wasn’t exactly sure what emotion she was feeling, whether she was angry or delighted. She tried to calm herself, she still had no way of knowing for sure. There was only one thing to do. She had to see for herself.

“Would you mind terribly if I accompanied you, young man? I never did get the chance to see Lowtown.”

Sebastian looked distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s really not that nice of a place.”

Elthina chose that moment to speak up. “Sebastian, that’s hardly courteous.”

The man gulped “Are you quite sure you want to come?”

“Oh most definitely.”

Wynne fixed him with the kind of look that she usually used to get Tabris and Aeducan to be on their best behavior. She didn’t have to look to see that Elthina was doing the same next to her. She could pinpoint the moment he caved. He sighed and held the door open for her, allowing her to leave the room first, though not before she heard him mutter “Oh maker, he’s going to _kill_ me.”

***

Entering the seedy bar, Wynne could tell why Sebastian was so careful in his wording, it was hardly the sort of place you would expect a chantry brother to visit, unless he was trying to get the patrons to see the error of their ways.

“My friends are over there.” He said resignedly, pointing at a table quite close to the bar. It was quite a large crowd, four humans, an elf, and a dwarf. They seemed to be having a good time, involved in a game of cards. One of the humans had his back to her, but he sat in a way that was _very_ familiar, and Wynne was starting to suspect her initial thoughts had been correct.

“Varric you son of a bitch! How did you manage that!?”

That clinched it, there was no doubt remaining in her mind. She knew that voice. Delight, relief, and cold fury fought for dominance, and she stood rooted to the spot. Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’ll just go on ahead then…”

She nodded dumbly as he made his way to the table, taking the seat next to Alistair. The man clapped his shoulder, and she recovered her senses enough to move forward. She could see Sebastian mutter something in a hurried, panicked voice, and Alistair’s confused expression. She cleared her throat, and the blond tensed.

“Alistair Theirin. You had better have a good explanation for this.”

 

                                                                


	2. Alistair's Friends Are Nosy and Unhelpful, As Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynne does not know whether she's angry or sad or happy or some strange winning combination of the three. Alistair hopes she doesn't kill him in a fit of motherly rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy I chose to start with a Fenris POV tbh because I hadn't had the opportunity to write him yet. And this way, its not all serious and angst -R

Fenris walked in for the game of Wicked Grace twenty minutes late, after convincing himself that arriving on time made him seem like he was too eager to see Hawke and arriving too late would make it look like he was avoiding her. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that no one else would be thinking about his motives in that way but was already quite late by then. So, he was oddly surprised to see that the bar was empty. Or, more accurately, all their mugs were at their usual table and he could see discarded hands of cards there but the people were nowhere to be found.

Instantly, Fenris felt panic. Had someone found them? Had it been Danarius or someone else who was searching for him that had decided taking his friends were the easiest way to get Fenris himself? But then, on closer examination, Fenris could see no sign of a struggle. Well, except for a little bit near where Alistair usually sat, as his ale had spilled over his cards and his chair was wildly askew. 

Fenris decided to check Varric's rooms. He ventured deeper into the Hanged Man, narrowly avoiding a couple that was making out not so stealthily against an open door and wrinkling his nose in disgust. He had only just reached Varric's rooms, when he heard the whispering. He turned his head sharply to see their whole team crowded up near the door of a different room in the Hanged Man. Alistair's rooms, actually.

Fenris raised a single amused eyebrow.

"Is Alistair finally courting that barmaid that kept leaving her Lowtown address for him?" he asked as he approached and was answered with a hissing "Shhhh" from all the others crowded around the door. Fenris felt vaguely offended.

Hawke, who was actually lying down on the floor so her ear could be pressed against the gap under the door, looked up at Fenris sheepishly. She shot a glare at the rest of the gang that said "Take my place and you'll die a fire-y death" and slowly got up so she could explain. "Someone from Alistair's past showed up." she said quietly. "She's really mad and pretty much dragged him by his ear into his room and she's been yelling at him for five minutes now."

"The elf woman?" Fenris asked, thinking of the stories Alistair had told him about the love of his life.

"No, no," Hawke whispered. "Older. Chantry clothes and she's a mage, so probably someone from the Ferelden Circle."

"I think she's investigating the mage-templar disputes in Kirkwall on behalf of the Queen." Sebastian piped up and everyone around him shushed loudly. He went back to listening, crouched near the door opening.

Fenris looked at the group and then back at Hawke who seemed like she was itching to go back to her place on the floor. "Any reason why you are all intruding on their privacy?" he asked dryly.

A smile twitched at Hawke's face. "You're welcome to leave." she said.

"Of course, I'm not leaving. Move over, I want to listen through the bottom gap." Fenris said.

Hawke laughed. Isabela whacked her shoulder to shut her up and Hawke sobered, before dropping back to her previous position.

Fenris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How did he ever become friends with these idiots?

***

Alistair rubbed at his ear. It still hurt from Wynne pulling him through the Hanged Man and into his rooms, only letting go once she had slammed the door and placed a magical barrier on it, much like the one she had used during the destruction of the Circle.

"Are you listening to me?" Wynne snapped suddenly and Alistair flew back to attention.

"Yes, I am," he said, more than a little scared of the mage at the moment.

"Why are you rubbing at your ear?" she asked.

"It hurts from you pulling it." he said quietly.

Wynne let out a frustrated groan and lifted her staff. Alistair did not flinch at the movement. She seemed to mutter an absent minded healing spell and suddenly the twinge in his ear was gone.

Alistair smiled. "Thank you," he said.

"Oh, _thank you_." Wynne mocked. "Thank you, he says. What I wouldn't give to drag you by your ear all the way back to Ferelden, right now."

Alistair winced. "Please, don't."

Wynne ignored him. "Do you even realize what you put us through, Alistair? No, leave us, what you put her through? Sylvia? And it's not like she could show it either, she had to pretend it was all completely okay, because there was still an archdemon to kill!"

Alistair looked at her hopelessly.

"Did you know I had to physically stop Aeducan from going after you that night after you left? Zevran, too. They were both ready to find you and tear your limbs apart and then bring them back to Tabris as presents but I stopped them, because I said you would come around. I vouched for you, because I knew you had a good heart. But then, days past, and still no sign of you and do you know how that must have felt?" Alistair shook his head numbly when Wynne paused and looked at him piercingly. "No! You don't know how it felt. We were sure you had probably died somewhere and it nearly tore Tabris apart."

Alistair opened his mouth but Wynne cut him off.

"No! You don't get to speak yet, I'm not done." she pounded her staff forcefully and a few sparks flew out of the end, crackling in the golden tinged light of the room. "How would you have felt if Tabris had died after you left? I mean, she almost did, actually."

"What?" Alistair asked.

"Oh, yes, she almost died. Her and Aeducan."

"But how -" he started.

Wynne shook her head. "No, you don't get to know. You gave up that right a long time ago." Wynne seemed to suddenly lose all of the steam she had been building and collapsed roughly into a chair opposite to wear Alistair was sitting. 

There was silence, Wynne sitting in her chair, her head in her hands, Alistair staring at her, feeling the guilt pouring through every inch of his body.

Eventually she asked "Why didn't you ever come back?" Wynne's eyes rose to meet Alistair's. "If you had time to be here in Kirkwall drinking your days away, why didn't you ever come back?"

Alistair was quiet for a long time, before he finally said "And come back to face all of you?"

Wynne gave him a pitying look.

He sighed. "I'd be lucky to get in a single word before Zevran put a dagger through my heart. That is, if Sylvia didn't do it first."

Wynne sighed. "You could come back home with me, when I -" she started.

"No."

Wynne felt taken aback. "Why not? Well, fine, then I could send her a letter and -"

"No, Wynne, don't." Alistair said, feeling years older than he was.

"But why? Alistair, it may take her a while to forgive, but she will come around, I can -"

"Wynne," Alistair held up a hand. "I don't want you sending her letters and making her upset. Maybe she can learn to forget me. I don't think I'd ever forgive someone who just abandoned me. Maker knows I never forgave my father for that. And the last thing I'd want is you guilting her into coming here to see me."

"But you can't make that choice for her, she'll never know to come here if she doesn't know you're here." Wynne begged.

"Please, Wynne." Alistair said calmly. "She won't want to see me, and I definitely don't deserve to see her."

Wynne sighed. She got to her feet and twirled her staff, undoing the barrier she had placed on the door. "Fine," she said eventually. "I won't inform her." Alistair sighed in relief. "But I'm also not leaving you."

"What?" Alistair asked.

"I have to stay in Kirkwall for this mage-templar conflict anyway, I can also use that time to talk some sense into you. And maybe, eventually, you'll come around and stop being such a stubborn fool about this whole thing." Wynne huffed angrily. "Now, come on, I bet your friends are waiting for you."

Alistair got to his feet, and moved ahead of Wynne to open the door. As he swung it open, at least five bodies collapsed inwards and into the room, sprawling at their feet. 

"Hello, Alistair," Merrill said, waving a little. The rest looked incredibly guilty.

"Were you all spying on us?" Alistair asked incredulously.

Hawke shuffled her feet. "Well, I wouldn't call it spying... more healthy friendly concern."

"Yes, spying." Fenris said and Hawke groaned.

"But with mostly good intentions," Varric piped up, finally getting to his feet after Isabela had extracted herself from the mess on the floor and given him room to move.

Alistair sighed. "Shoo, all of you." he said, waving his hands at them, ushering them away and into the main room of the Hanged Man.

Wynne seemed to smile a bit as she watched them leave. "I can see why you would become friends with that lot." she said gently. "They remind me of different unruly group."

"Less saving the world, more pointless arguing and drinking, I think." Alistair said with a laugh.

"Well, even the most unlikely group can save people. You'd be surprised." Wynne said, her eyes twinkling. "Now, come on, I need to go ask Elthina if there are any available rooms in the Chantry where you can stay because you can't possibly stay here."

"But Wynne," Alistair whined.

Wynne shook her head firmly. "Don't take that tone with me. Come on."


	3. Fenris is Won Over with Anonymous Baked Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynne has an irresistible urge to mother Fenris, and Fenris is suspicious of everything and everyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this chapter about four times, just thought you ought to know. Also this chapter was about 12% R's baby. -Styx

Wynne was content to mother Alistair for weeks. Despite her initial fury, she really had missed the foolish boy, they all had. The man tolerated her fussing with a barely restrained eye roll, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile that bloomed on his face every time. Part of her had felt guilty, not telling Tabris, but a promise was a promise, and hopefully in time she could make Alistair come around. In the meantime, she elected to just bide her time and watch him and his friends.

It was amazing how one dysfunctional group could so closely resemble another. She kept catching glimpses of Tabris and Aeducan in Hawke and the other day she’d almost called Merrill “Leliana”. Of all of Alistair’s new friends however, the one she kept the closest eye on was Fenris. He was the only one she couldn’t find a direct analogy for. If she had to make a connection, she’d say he reminded her of Aeducan at the very beginning, before she learned to trust the people around her, but even that didn’t seem completely right. In her opinion, the elf looked lost and disbelieving, as though he couldn’t fathom that he actually had friends around him, and he seemed always on edge, as though he expected them all to be snatched away from him at any moment. Alistair had taken her aside and explained Fenris’ story in private one day, and she had emerged from the experience determined to help the man anyway she could.

***

Fenris had good reason not to trust mages. He had been tortured and humiliated by mages. Treated like a pet, only there to provide entertainment to people whose definition of the word was the most cruel, he learned to despise those who possessed magic. He knew that not all mages were Danarius, but he also knew that all mages had the potential to become Danarius, and so he kept his distance. Until recently, of course.

 Hawke was the first to get under his skin. He had seen the way she had jumped at the chance to help him, without even knowing who he was, knowing that it would be dangerous. He had found himself watching her as she fought, her movements fluid and her face set as she protected both her friends and a man she had never met until that night. Her brother had been more offended than she had when he bitterly explained his dislike for mages. It was… odd. After Hawke came Merrill, a blood mage who he should have hated with every fiber in his being, and he did, in the beginning. But Merrill made it very difficult to actually hate her. He still didn’t trust her, and probably never completely would, but he honestly couldn’t say he hated her. Even Anders, who spent more time on his soapbox than in his clinic had become a comrade, if not a friend.

 It really hit him one day, sitting in the hanged man, after some fight that went surprisingly alright that he actually had people around him that he considered friends, and among them were three mages. He still didn’t trust mages, and he still made that fact abundantly clear, but now there was now an unsaid “present company excluded (unless present company is Anders)”.

Wynne was another matter altogether. The woman had, according to Varric, burst into the hanged man with fury etched across her features, and dragged the Templar up the stairs with more force than anyone would have believed the elderly woman to possess. Fenris had learned to take Varric’s stories with a grain of salt, but still, Wynne was an unknown, and it was in his best interest to be wary.

***

Fenris was supposed to be meeting Varric and Isabela in the Hanged Man for something or another. Actually he was supposed to have met them five minutes ago. Instead he was standing in his kitchen staring at a basket full of cookies. It was the third time this week.

The anonymous presents of baked goods had begun five days ago, with a basket of chocolate cookies on his doorstep. Fenris had stared at it with a scowl, before slowly stepping around it and heading out to meet Hawke. Still, the biscuits preyed on his mind all day. Who had sent them? Why? Were they poisoned? They were probably poisoned. He spent the rest of the day sending Anders suspicious looks (Well more so than usual), because honestly, who else would send him poisoned pastries? Baked goods weren’t exactly Danarius’ style.

Another basket was waiting for him two days later, and this time, they were almost too tempting to resist. It had been raining for the past two days, and stately as Fenris’ mansion was, the roof had started to leak in places, and the general atmosphere was glummer than usual. His moment of weakness could be forgiven, since the smell of fresh baked cookies was infinitely better than the smell of musty carpets and molding wallpaper. He had almost taken the basket in, when he thought better of it, and dumped the contents into the bushes.

Now there was yet another basket on his doorstep, and Fenris had finally had enough. He took it in, placed it on his kitchen table, and then proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to decide what to do with it. He had debated the pros and cons of eating the cookies at least three times, before he gave in, and picked up a biscuit. He briefly considered somehow getting word to Hawke, just in case his first impression turned out to be right and he ended up dead on the dirty carpet, then decided against it, and took the smallest possible bite. His eyes closed of their own accord and the noise that escaped his mouth was honestly embarrassing. He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t called Hawke over.

***

Alistair slid into the seat across from Wynne at the chantry dining hall. She gave him a curious look over her bowl of stew.

“So I went to Fenris’ place today.”

“Oh?” She kept her expression carefully blank.

“Yeah, he was supposed to meet Varric and Isabela at the Hanged Man, but he was running late, so they sent me to get him. You’ll never guess what I found.”

“What did you find?”

“Believe it or not, he was sitting in the kitchen eating chocolate cookies, can you believe that?”

“Alistair, if this a comment about grown men liking sweets, you’re hardly in a position to talk.”

Alistair ignored her, choosing instead to fix her with his best puppy-dog eyes and whine “Why didn’t I get any cookies?”

Wynne was taken aback. “What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

Alistair just raised an eyebrow, and Wynne had to laugh. He was much smarter than people gave him credit for. A thoughtful look came over his face.

“It’s actually a relief to see him enjoying anything.” He said. “Especially when he’s in that dingy old house all the time. It’s really quite a dump.”

“Is it now?”

“Mhm.” Alistair shot her a sly look “He refuses to leave it, or even clean the place up. It’s pretty dismal actually.”

Wynne gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, and Alistair grinned in response. She sighed, laughing a little. “I suppose we’ll have to do something about that.”

Alistair’s grin widened, and she huffed, getting up to wash her bowl.

“Do I get my cookies now?” he called after her.

“We’ll see!”

***

 Fenris was woken by a sharp knock on the door. He was immediately on alert, as he had long since accepted that none of his friends would ever knock before entering the house. He picked up his sword, creeping through the house towards the front door. He threw the door open and thrust the weapon out... stopping inches from a smirking Hawke.

“I told you we should have just walked in!” she called over her shoulder to Wynne, who was standing behind her. And Behind Wynne stood all of his other friends various degrees of resignation on their faces and cleaning supplies in their hands. He fixed Hawke with a look.

“We decided your house needed cleaning.”

“ _They_ decided, we had nothing to do with it!” grumbled Isabela, gesturing towards Hawke and Wynne.

He scowled at the mages. Hawke blinked at him, the picture of innocence, while Wynne just gave him such a level look that he was forced to look away.

“Also, Wynne made apple pie.” Said Hawke, holding the pastry in front of his face teasingly. The scent of cinnamon and warm sugar filled his nostrils and his mouth began to water. He sighed, and opened the door wider to let them all in.

The group trooped in, Hawke in the lead as usual. She handed him his pie and began to give instructions. While she was in her element, Fenris sidled up to Alistair.

“So how exactly did this happen?”

The man refused to meet his eye “I may have let it slip that you live in a dump.”

“I live in a _mansion_ ”

“Fenris, you only use three of the rooms and there are still corpses in the hallway.”

“That’s not the point!” Fenris ran a hand through his hair, watching Hawke as she tried to argue Varric and Sebastian into doing something with mops. “How did they get the rest of you involved anyway?”

Alistair grinned “Merrill and Aveline agreed right off the bat and Hawke offered to pay Varric’s tab for the next three days. I’m not really sure how Isabela got involved, and I don’t think I want to.” Both men shuddered in unison. “Anyway,” said Alistair, shaking his head to remove whatever mental image he’d conjured, “Hawke and Wynne double teamed Anders, and Sebastian tried to get out of it by claiming chantry duties, but Wynne talked to the Grand Cleric and arranged for him to have the day off.”

“And you?”

“Who do you think got the practice pie?’

***

Wynne had watched as Hawke quite efficiently broke the team up into little groups and sent them to work with only minimal grumbling, until it was just the three of them, Wynne, Hawke and Fenris. Hawke had left the kitchen area for themselves. They were in there now, Wynne with a broom and Hawke with a duster as Fenris sat on the counter with the pie on his lap, _still_ attempting to get them out of the house.

“I really don’t need my house cleaned.”

Hawke sighed, pushing her bangs out of her eyes “Yes, you really, really, do” She held up the duster, once a cheerful yellow, now covered in a thick layer of grime.

“Hawke.”

“Fenris.”

“I don’t-“

She huffed, tossing the duster on top of the cupboard she was working on and stalked over to the elf, grabbed the fork out his hand, scooped up some pie and shoved it into his mouth.

The elf blushed a deep red, and Hawke smirked, before getting back to work.

Wynne watched this with exchange with a knowing smile. Apparently this group was more similar to her own than she’d previously suspected.

***

“Right that’s it, I’m taking a break.” Hawke dragged her hand across her forehead, tossing her duster away. “Wynne?”

“I’m nearly finished, I think I’ll stay here.”

“Excellent, Fenris can help!”

Fenris made a spluttering noise from his place on the counter.

“Hawke!”

She just fixed him with an exasperated look and left the room.

Fenris watched as Wynne worked diligently, humming to herself. The mage stopped for a moment and gave him a gentle smile. Fenris found himself moving off of the counter and picking up a broom. They worked in relative silence, and when they were done, Wynne gave him an approving nod.

“Thank you.” The words left Fenris’ mouth in rush. He wasn’t sure if he was thanking her for the pie or the cleaning or for something else entirely, but he felt that the words needed to be said.

Wynne beamed at him, and he felt oddly proud.

“You’re quite welcome. Now, we should see what the others have gotten up to. I’ll probably have to separate Alistair and Sebastian again…” she trailed off with a sigh.

Fenris followed her out of the room with a strange warm feeling in his chest. When he bumped into Hawke in the hallway, he studiously ignored the knowing look in her eye.

***

Wynne was helping out in Anders’ clinic, something she did at least once a week, and Hawke and company had ended up in need of their assistance, as usual.

“Isabela, if you pick at that scab and it gets infected again I’ll let you heal it the hard way!” she said, a warning note coloring her voice.

Alistair looked over from where Anders was fixing his broken leg. “She’s serious you know. I had to trek through a forest with an infected injury on my arm once.”

Isabela made a face and moved her fingers away from the scab, and Wynne gave a satisfied nod, moving on to her next patient. She looked Fenris up and down. The elf had a gash across his right cheek, blood dripping from his nose, and multiple lacerations on his forearms. He was holding his arm in a way that definitely meant that something was dislocated, and from the way he was sitting should tell that he had at least one cracked rib. She raised her eyebrows slightly. Even her idiot wardens had never been this reckless in a fight.

“So,” she asked dryly “What seems to be the problem?”

Fenris’ unimpressed look could have given Sten a run for his money.

She set to work, first gently cleaning his wounds by hand, before letting a small spark of magic dance over them, rebuilding the tissue and skin in the area. Another spark healed the ribs. Then a wave of magic numbed his shoulder area so that she could pop it back into place without hurting him too much.

Throughout this entire processes, Fenris was as still as a post, his entire body tense, as though preparing himself for unimaginable pain.

“Well, that’s done.” She said stepping away from the elf “Now listen to me young man, I’ll repeat what I said to Isabela, if you pick at those scabs, you’ll have to let them heal the old fashioned way.”

Fenris gave her a surprised look. “You’re finished?”

“Yes.”

“But it didn’t hurt.”

“It isn’t supposed to.” Wynne gave him a suspicious look “Were you expecting your healing to cause you pain?”

“It always has before.”

“Well then, whoever was healing you was doing it terribly wrong.” She offered him a small smile, and shooed him away from the table. He moved to wait next to Isabela, and she went to help Anders with Alistair. He’d always been an exasperating patient. She could still feel the elf’s eyes following her curiously around the room.

Anders later explained to her that Fenris never came to be magically healed.

“He prefers to go to his mansion and lick his wounds.” He said, as Wynne prepared to leave. “Honestly, he hasn’t even let Hawke heal him yet. I’m not sure how you managed to convince him, but I’m glad you did.”

“And here I was under the impression the two of you didn’t get along.”

The corner of Anders’ mouth quirked up “I may not like him, but I don’t want him dead, which is what would happen if he kept self-medicating. Hawke would be devastated.”

Wynne chuckled softly, and resolved to make sure she was in the clinic every time the group went questing.

***

Fenris couldn’t remember his mother. It never really bothered him, since you really couldn’t miss something you never knew you had. But still, there were days when he wondered what it would be like.

“Fenris, have you been using your kitchen table to sharpen your sword? It’s covered in scratches!”

Fenris jerked up out of his chair, where he’d started to doze, and turned to face Wynne. She was standing at the room’s entrance, a slightly disapproving look on her face. Wynne had long since learned that walking right into Fenris’ home alarmed him much less than actually knocking every time she wanted to come in. He relaxed, letting out a soft breath.

“Wynne,” he nodded in her direction, and she gave him a small smile in return. He gestured to the chair opposite him and she sat. He steepled his fingers and caught her eye.

“So are you only here to criticize my furniture or is there another purpose to your visit?”

“I just came to drop off this.” She handed him a basket, which he accepted with a rare smile of his own.

“Thank you.”

“Maker only knows what you did for food when I wasn’t around.”

“Varric.”

“Of course.” Her voice was fond, and Fenris felt that odd warmth in his chest again. It was becoming a common occurrence. Wynne stayed and chatted for a bit, before returning to the chantry. Fenris walked her out, making sure she returned safely. It was getting dark, after all. As he made his way back home, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what having a mother felt like.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sappy ending for my son. Protect Fenris 2k15 -Styx


	4. Eluvians Are Not Playthings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynne tries her hardest to help everyone she can, but it doesn't always turn out the way she wants it to.

"Hawke, pleaaaaseee," Merrill begged, her hands clasped together and she stared at Hawke with wide doe eyes. Wynne, who had just walked in on the scene at Hawke's estate, raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, Merrill," Hawke sighed. "We've been over this. I don't really approve of this thing you're doing, and you can't just puppy-dog-eye me every time you want help with it."

"But Carver said -"

"When did you talk to Carver?" Hawke asked abruptly.

Merrill shuffled her feet. "Well, he replied to my letter just yesterday and -"

"Carver's been writing to you and not replying to me?" Hawke cried.

Merrill bit her lip. "Well, it's not that he doesn't _want_ to reply to you, he just said he enjoys talking to me and it's nothing personally against you, Hawke, I'm sure, and gosh, I'm making this worse, I think, I'm going to shut up. Now."

Hawke was muttering "I'm going to show him who he enjoys talking to." when Wynne cleared her throat, making the pair jump.

"Wynne," Hawke said warmly when she realized who the intruder was. "What are you doing here? Did you need help with something?"

"Well, I was actually just coming over to invite you to tea, but I believe you're in the middle of something." Wynne turned to give Merrill a wide smile. "I don't believe we've met, my dear. I'm Wynne." she held out a hand to the elf who beamed.

"Well we haven't met, technically, but I was there the night you stormed in all scary and stuff, which was very intimidating and impressive." Merrill paused. "Oh, I was supposed to introduce myself, wasn't I? I'm always forgetting about these things, sorry, my name is Merrill." she took Wynne's hand and shook it before pausing again. "How long is considered rude to shake a shemlen's hand? I've never figured that out. We don't have these customs among the Dalish."

Wynne carefully extracted her hand from Merrill's grip and smiled. "That's quite alright. You're doing well enough with the customs you do know, I can say that much."

"Really?" Merrill asked happily.

"Definitely." Wynne raised her eyebrows first at the elf and then at Hawke. "So, what was this problem you were begging Hawke about?"

"Oh, Wynne you don't need to -" Hawke began at the same time Merrill said "I didn't mean to impose on you and -"

"Hush." Wynne said calmly, holding a hand up. "I want to help. It's what I like to do. Now, what's this about?"

Hawke and Merrill exchanged a glance that seemed to say an incredible amount of things in such a short silence, before they both turned to Wynne again. "I need help in gaining an item from my old clan's keeper and I'm a bit... too intimidated to face her alone." Merrill shuffled anxiously. "Which was why I was asking Hawke for help because Keeper Marethari seems to like her at least."

"Well, that doesn't sound too hard. What's the problem, then?"

Hawke and Merrill exchanged another look. Finally, Merrill said "The item I want is for something that Hawke does not approve of, very much. But honestly, I just need help facing the Keeper, that's all! She's just very scary sometimes!"

Hawke sighed. "Merrill, I just -"

"I'll come with you." Wynne interrupted.

"What?" both mages turned wide eyed to stare at the woman.

Wynne smiled. "You just need someone to help you face the Keeper? I'll come."

"Wynne, you -" Hawke started but Merrill was already jumping forward.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" she hugged Wynne and released her guiltily. "Is it customary to hug someone you just met? I did that very impulsively and I don't -"

Wynne laughed and looked at Hawke. "Honestly, how could you say no to a face like that?"

Hawke sighed. "That's how she draws you in, I'm telling you."

***

"I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."

Merrill stared back defiantly.

Wynne paused and frowned. "No, scratch that I am mad, definitely mad." she arched a single eyebrow thoughtfully. "Furious, even."

Merrill huffed out a hot breath of anger.

"I'm just happy I'm not the one getting yelled at for once." Alistair whispered to Hawke conspiratorially.

"I'm just happy I don't have to be the one to yell at her for once." Hawke muttered back.

"You two." Wynne said, rounding on said two. "Get. out."

"Gladly!" Alistair said, grabbing Hawke and pulling her out behind him, slamming Merrill's door in his rush to get out.

"But I wanted to listen!" Hawke whined, staring longingly at the door.

Alistair shook his head at Hawke, giving her a small frown. "They deserve privacy."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Merrill shouted, the force of the sound rattling the not entirely too stable foundation of the hovel she lived in. Hawke winced.

"Yeah, probably right." she conceded to Alistair who nodded in triumph.

The sound of a pot shattering broke both from their silent musing. "We should go." Hawke said. Alistair nodded urgently and they began to walk away.

"YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER." Merrill shouted in anger.

"Faster, Hawke, faster." Alistair hissed, pulling the mage along, trying to put as much distance between himself and angry arguing women as humanely possible.

***

Oghren once told Wynne that no one drank alcohol for the taste, they drank it to remove the taste of life stuck in their mouth. Wynne smiled remembering his hefty chuckle after he told her this. "It also helps keep my junk from freezin' and fallin' off." he had said next, taking another large swig from the sack of ale.

"Probably better use for it if it froze and fell off." Tabris had called out from across the campfire, resulting the rest of the camp bursting into laughter and a very huffy Oghren.

She was interrupted from her musings by the noise of the door opening. She looked up to see the Grand Cleric staring at her with a bemused look.

"I would have thought you'd have gone to sleep by now, Wynne." she said, her face shifting to one of slight worry.

Wynne shook her head, tiredly. "I was about to, just thinking. You know how it is."

Elthina chuckled. "Well, in our old age, we do become quite introspective."

"We have to do something with all the energy we have from not moving around as much."

Elthina walked over to where Wynne was sitting and sat beside her. "Is there anything in particular you were thinking about?" she asked.

Wynne looked at her fingers. She painted her nails often, but never had the patience to wait for it to dry and ended up with smudged and cracked polish. Beauty is fleeting, she thought to herself. Wynne remembered once being the woman who turned the most heads in the Ferelden circle. Youth is fleeting.

She held her child in her arms for barely an instant before he was snatched away. Moments are fleeting.

"Wynne?" Elthina pressed.

"I tried to talk a young girl out of doing something stupid today, and it ended with her slamming her door in my face." Wynne shook her head. "She's so young, she could do so much more with her life. She could be protected from so much hurt, and yet I couldn't convince her of anything. I just want to protect her."

Elthina sighed. "Kids don't like to listen to their elders."

"She reminds me of myself." Wynne whispered. "I can't protect myself."

"Believe me," Elthina said. "Children will be children. And she is not you, because she has not gone through what you have been through in your life. You are not who you were twenty years ago."

Personalities are fleeting, Wynne thought to herself.

"So, I just watch her make a mistake that could ruin her life or get her killed?" Wynne asked.

"You try your best to stop her, and that's all you can do." Elthina patted Wynne's hand comfortingly. "What she does is her choice."

Wynne thought she could help the entire world if she tried hard enough.

"The only person who you can truly help is yourself, Wynne."

Wynne squeezed Elthina's hand. "Thank you."

Change is unavoidable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had been stumping me for a while which is why its so late. And then pieces of the story kept coming together really slowly and then, yesterday I watched this movie called Adaptation and inspiration sort of struck. So, in conclusion, writer's block is messy but power through. And also, watch Adaptation cause that was a fantastic movie.


	5. A Beginner’s Guide to Hosting Fade Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders realizes that he's not the only one harboring a Fade Spirit. Wynne realizes that some problems are too big to solve on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of apologies: First, sorry for the delay. It's partially because this semester nearly killed me and partially because Anders was not being cooperative. Second, this chapter is kinda light on the humor, because with Anders comes many issues, but I tried to keep it light where I could. I have a lot of feelings about spirit possession and I can promise you'll be hearing more about Anders and Justice later on in the storyline. -Styx

Anders has always hated the fade. Even without the constant looming threat of demon possession, it was a murky, treacherous, and disorienting place. His Harrowing had not been a pleasant experience. Justice was an added complication. He tended to hum quietly under his skin in a vaguely irritating manner on a normal day, but when he was in the fade, he was in Justice’s home, and the spirit was stronger there. Sometimes, in the Fade, it was hard to remember that he was Anders, and not Justice. Knowing all of these facts made going after Feynriel with Hawke a colossally stupid idea. It probably said a lot about his character that he did anyway.

***

The first clue that something wasn’t quite right was finding the door to the clinic shut. Even when the Templars were most active, Anders never shut his clinic doors. Wynne stood outside hesitantly, trying to decide if her presence would be welcome. She had known Team Hawke- Alistair’s words, not hers- was taking on quest today, and she made it a point to be on call after all of those. However the closed door was bewildering, and after her earlier encounter with Merrill, she didn’t want to push too hard. Anders could usually take care of himself, he had a creditable amount of mental fortitude. She’d always thought so when she heard about his escapades in the circle tower, and she’d noticed it when she’d met him briefly in Amaranthine. She sighed, shook her head, straightened her shoulders, and pushed the door open.

***

Anders heard the clinic door open, and whirled around, staff at the ready, only to lower it when he saw the now familiar face in shadows.

“By the Maker, Wynne, you nearly scared the life out of me!”

He let out a sigh of relief. He liked Wynne, though he’d only met her briefly before her trip to Kirkwall. There was something about her that seemed to quell the restlessness in his skin.

Wynne snorted “I find that highly unlikely.” She eased herself into one of the chairs that littered the tiny work room that seemed to double as Anders’ sitting room. She took in his tense shoulders, unkempt robes, and forced smile and swallowed a sigh. “Do want to tell me why you’ve holed yourself up in your little hovel then?”

Anders stiffened. “No.” he said petulantly, “…And it’s not a hovel!” he added as an afterthought.

Wynne merely raised an eyebrow, it usually worked with Alistair.

“Okay…” he conceded. “It _is_ a bit of a hovel.”

“ _Anders_ ” said Wynne, exasperatedly, adopting the tone she used to use on unruly apprentices, or Aeducan and Tabris when they unintentionally, or not so unintentionally, insulted a human. She could see when Anders decided to relent.

“Hawke took us into the fade today.”

“And where _is_ Hawke?” she asked. It wasn’t like the impish mage to leave her friends when they were troubled.

“Asking after _Fenris_.” his voice took on a bitter tone, and Wynne had to hide a chuckle. When it came to things like feelings, Anders was an open book. “He switched sides you know, because of a Pride demon,” he spat, “Or at least, that’s what Justice tells me. I was… out of commission for that one.”

“Justice?” asked Wynne. She knew that there was something odd about Anders, something all of the others, even Alistair, tended to skirt around when she was present, it was something she knew almost instinctively.

“Oh, you haven’t heard this story yet?” Anders gave a rueful laugh “Well, it started when Commander Tabris left the Keep for the first time. The spirit of Justice was possessing a dead Grey Warden at the time, and the body was… failing.”

Wynne leaned back in her chair, and let Anders settle into his story. She had a feeling she had more in common with the reckless apostate than she cared to admit.

***

Anders finished his story, looking resolutely at the wall over Wynne’s shoulder the entire time. He knew what she’d say, what they all say.

“Oh,” he heard her say, her voice distant and painfully soft “you foolish, foolish boy.”

Anders sighed. “I know, alright. You’re hardly the first person to tell me this. You think I don’t know that Fenris and Sebastian call me an abomination? You think I don’t see how Hawke and Varric walk on eggshells around me, so as to not bring out my vengeful side? You think-” his voice broke, and he closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

“Anders,” said Wynne firmly “look at me.” he forced his eyes open, fixing her with a defiant glare. She noticed his expression and a smile tugged at her lips. “I’m not here to condemn you.”

“What?”

“I’m not here to condemn you. In fact, I may be able to help.”

***

In some ways telling Anders about the spirit of Faith that shared her body was easier than telling Tabris and Aeducan. At least this time she could be sure the response would be somewhat positive.

The problem with angry young men, she thought, was that they were always so certain they were right. While this was normally extremely irritating, especially among older apprentices or new mages, it was most certainly the reason behind Anders’ flabbergasted expression when she dropped that bit of news. It was a very entertaining expression.

***

“What’s got you smiling like the cat that’s got the pigeon?” Alistair asked when he ran into her in Hightown.

“That joke was barely funny the first time, Alistair.” She replied primly.

“You’re looking smug.” he responded, waving away her comment “It’s never good when you look smug.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” but she could feel the smile blossoming on her face as the words left her lips.

Alistair just grinned.

***

Wynne continued to take shifts at the clinic, and other than giving her a few considering looks from the corner of his eye, Anders didn’t mention their conversation until a week or so later.

“We need to talk.”

Wynne gave him a level look. “Yes, we do.”

Anders gestured for her to sit before awkwardly settling on a chair of his own.  He stared at her for a moment, and Wynne waited. If he wanted to speak, he would speak.

“How can you stand it?” he blurted out suddenly.

Wynne raised an eyebrow.

Anders rubbed a tired hand over his face. “How can you stand the constant buzzing? And the commentary, oh _maker_ , the commentary is the worst! He’s always there, always just under the surface.” He sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know where I end and Justice begins.”

Wynne was a silent for a moment. Her connection with her spirit, with Faith, was nothing like Anders’ with Justice. Faith was a constant warm, reassuring presence at the back of her mind. Physical discomfort and intrusive thoughts sounded dangerously like demonic possession, meaning something was very wrong. Then it clicked.

“Anders, do you remember the first rule of the fade?”

“Be careful, or the big bad demons will get you?” he quipped

Wynne rolled her eyes, and Anders smirked a little.

“The fade is sensitive to your wishes and perceptions” she explained patiently “so if you perceived Justice’s possession as similar to a demonic possession…” she trailed off, letting him come to the conclusion himself.

His eyes widened, and for a moment he looked impossibly young and terrified, and Wynne’s heart broke again. The problem with angry young men, she thought, was that they were always so certain they were right.

***

It wasn’t easy searching for information. She couldn’t very well march into the circle and ask to see the books on possession. Meredith might not be able to burn her at the stake, but she would certainly try her best. So she scoured the tomes from shops in the most unsavory parts of town. She hunted among the oddities found in the black emporium. She recruited Alistair and Sebastian (when he could be spared) to charm their way into the chantry library. And she sat down and wrote letters, very delicate and carefully worded letters. To First Enchanter Irving, who still held the position at Kinloch Hold, to Chancellor Aeducan, who seemed to know many people in obscure fields of study, and to acquaintances in other circles. She even penned a brief letter to Tabris in case she’d met anyone helpful in her role as Warden Commander. It took all her willpower to keep _that_ letter strictly academic. A promise is a promise after all.

***

“Meditation?” Anders asked incredulously. Wynne had promised to look into the situation, but he hadn’t held out much hope. It was his new life policy, better to be pleasantly surprised than horribly disappointed. Whatever he was expecting it was _not_ meditation.

Wynne pursed her lips at him. “The Tevinter mages of old used to practice it. From what I understand, it allowed a sort of controlled access to the fade. If we can get you to a state where you fully realize Justice’s true nature, he will no longer be a spirit of vengeance.”

“Forgive me if I don’t think we should be following the example of the Tevinter mages.”

“It’s our best option.”

“…Fine.”

***

“It’s not _working_!” shouted Anders, frustrated. He closed his eyes trying to bring his breathing under control.

“Anders, keep calm.” warned Wynne.

Anders let out a laugh tinged with hysteria. “Calm? I am calm! No one is calmer than me!”

“ _Anders_.”

“I. Am. CALM.” His voice deepened, veins of blue energy snaked across his face and arms, his eyes took on a bluish glow, and Wynne knew instantly that it was no longer Anders standing in front of her.

“So, you’re Justice I take it.”

“I AM.”

“And is there a reason Anders has asked you to make an appearance?” Wynne fought to keep her composure. Justice cut a frightening figure, wearing the face of her friend, twisting it into eerie mask both familiar and not, the glowing features a cheap copy of Anders’ handsome visage.

Justice faced her with blank eyes. “YOU HAVE A SPIRIT OF THE FADE WITHIN YOU.” he said, voice almost curious “IT FEELS… FAMILIAR.”

Wynne squared her shoulders. “Young man, you have not answered my question.”

Justice chuckled and the absurdity of calling an ageless spirit ‘young man’ dawned on her. He tilted his head in concession of her question. “ANDERS DID NOT CALL ME OUT, I SIMPLY…CHOSE TO MAKE AN APPEARANCE.”

Wynne narrowed her eyes “You don’t behave like any fade spirit I’ve encountered.” Her mind clung to Faith’s reassuring warmth. Something about this spirit filled her with a profound feeling of wrongness.

“I WAS THE SPIRIT OF JUSTICE.”

Wynne’s eyes narrowed further. “ _Was_.”

“I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I AM ANYMORE. THE YEARS HAVE CHANGED ME. _ANDERS_ HAS CHANGED ME. HIS ANGER, HIS HATRED, IT CONTROLS ME, ALTERS MY PURPOSE. AND SOMETIMES, IN RETURN, I MUST CONTROL _HIM_.” That said, he disappeared as suddenly as he arrived, leaving Anders gasping against the wall, unable to speak or to meet Wynne’s eye.

“Anders?” she asked carefully, with measured calm. “Are you-” she stopped herself from asking if he was alright, anyone with eyes could see that he was very much _not_.

“Yeah,” he panted “yeah, I’m fine.” Then his knees seemed to give way, and he slid down the wall, hitting the ground with a muffled thump. He sat there with one arm curled around his knees, too exhausted to stand, looking once more like such a frightened little boy that Wynne had to fight the urge to embrace him. Instead, she approached him cautiously, gingerly lowering herself to the ground next to him and studiously ignoring the way her old bones creaked. They sat in silence for a moment, Anders trying to catch his breath and Wynne waiting for him to speak.

“You know when Justice takes control, I can’t see anything.” He said suddenly.

“What?”

“You know the old saying ‘Justice is blind’? Well it’s true, literally. The glowing eyes,” he gestured to his face “he can’t see anything through them, he can just sort of… sense energies I suppose.”

Wynne gave him an encouraging nod. This wasn’t what she’d expected him to talk about, but once he’d started he couldn’t seem to stop.

“I’m always there in the background too, I can sense everything he senses, hear everything he says, and I know that it’s me who’s doing the speaking and the moving, but it’s a detached sort of knowledge. I’m an observer in my own mind!” he gave a hysterical chuckle. Wynne placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and took it as a good sign that he didn’t shrug it off. He sobered quickly.

“He hasn’t done a forceful take over like this since we went into the fade. I always have to fight my way back.”

“Does it always leave you like this?”

Anders nodded morosely “It gets harder every time.” he confessed quietly, and Wynne fought a sigh. It was much worse than she thought.

They sat quietly for a few more moments before Anders made to get up. He helped Wynne to her feet and forced a smirk. “Let’s try this meditation thing once more shall we, I’m sure I’ll get it this time.”

Wynne tried to muster a smile of her own, but she knew in her heart that meditation wouldn’t solve this problem. She would need to keep a close watch on Anders and Justice. Today’s possession, she felt, wasn’t an introduction, or a chance to gloat, it was a cry for help from both spirit and host. She watch as Anders began to prepare for another round of meditation.

The problem with angry young men, she thought, was that they were always so certain they were right.


	6. Mommy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela is FINE. She's dealing with some stuff but believe her, she's FINE. (Wynne doesn't quite believe that though)

Naishe used to say she learned how to lie before she learned how to talk. Following her mother around Rivain, learning her mother's tactics, feigning shock and surprise whenever her mother presented a new shiny talisman to an unsuspecting customer.

"Do you think this one is right for her?" Naishe's mother would ask, and she'd nod furiously. Madam Hari would smile at her victim conspiratorially. "My daughter, she has the gift. If she thinks it's the right fit, then I guarantee it is."

Naishe remembered very little about her early life except travelling. Travelling and more travelling. They'd arrive in a city and Naishe would try to run her own schemes until her mother stumbled into their home one day, intoxicated and panicked, saying that they had to leave. And some days Naishe would lay in bed at night, wondering about the father her mother had told her so very little about, who he might be, whether he might care about her more than the next scam he was planning.

And it wasn't all bad. Sometimes Madam Hari would sit her daughter down and give her life lessons, or braid her hair for her, or lay down with her under the stars and talk about how one day they were going to sail the entire sky. Some days her mother would hug her and love her. But those day didn't make up for the fights. It didn't make up for the screams and abuse, the objects thrown at her in a fit of rage - drunken or sober. And it didn't make up for her mother deciding to convert to the Qun and selling her daughter to an Antivan Crow because Naishe didn't want to be Qunari.

But what did that matter? She wasn't Naishe anymore. She was Isabela.

***

Isabela wouldn't say she had Mommy issues, but if one were to, hypothetically, describe her relationship with her mother, some parallels between Isabela and a girl who has "Mommy issues" could be drawn. Theoretically.

However, no matter how theoretical, it's a little difficult to ignore those feelings in the face of Wynne: mother extraordinaire. Isabela liked Wynne. Quite a bit, actually. The older woman was witty and strong, with an aura of love that seemed to radiate out of her at all times. But that was exactly the problem. Getting to know Wynne was dangerous territory. And Isabela knew how to stay out of murky waters, at least most of the time.

***

Isabela sat on a dusty table, eyeing the basket of chocolate chip cookies Fenris was consuming with concern. "I don't know if you're supposed to eat that many in one go. It's bad for your figure, Fenris."

Fenris grumbled something that sound awfully close to "I do what I please." before picking up another cookie. Isabela sighed.

"I'm _bored_ , Fenris. Everyone else is doing things, I wanted us to drink liquor and chat like we always do." Isabela knew she was whining, but sometimes it worked on Fenris. Not often, but sometimes.

"Cookie?" the elf merely asked, holding up a baked good.

Isabela turned up her nose. "Now, why would I ever?" Fenris suddenly eyed her with the unnerving, piercing glance he sometimes used. "What?" she asked.

Fenris made a humming noise. "You like pastries." he said.

"Yeah, so?" Isabela replied.

"You've avoided these for some reason." he put down the cookie. Isabela didn't like the look on his face. "In fact, I think you've avoided every baked good Wynne has ever tried to feed us."

"That's not true." Isabela replied smoothly. "I ate the pie."

Fenris laughed. "Now, I know that's a lie because I observe people, Isabela. I know that you didn't." He hummed again. "But the question is why you're lying?"

Isabela grumbled. "Well, believe what you want, but if you don't want to drink with me, then maybe I'll just leave." She glared at Fenris. "And I know you. Don't go running off to Hawke with your crazy ideas."

Fenris seemed insulted. "Do I look like Alistair?"

Fenris, of course, went straight to Hawke with his conclusions.

***

"We can split up, then!" Hawke seemed immensely pleased with herself. "Isabela and Wynne, you can go search down that hallway. Fenris, you'll come with me this way. We'll meet back up here if we don't find anything. Sound good?"

Somehow, Isabela knew this was Fenris' fault. Hawke had ambushed her just a few hours ago at the Hanged Man and asked her to come hunt down a possible serial killer, to which, of course, Isabela said _yes_. And it seemed the only other people free were Wynne and Fenris (though Isabela knew for a fact Varric had nothing to do today so that seemed unlikely).

Which led to her and Wynne, alone, sifting through Gascard DuPuis' mansion.

"Let's start with the main room and then move on to the hallway?" Wynne asked.

Isabela nodded. "There's sure to be some clues in this hovel."

Wynne lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "Hovel? Are you used to more luxury than this?"

Isabela laughed. "Of course! My ship was decked in gold. We took what we wanted and lived on mead and cake!"

Wynne smiled. "I believe, Isabela, you do tend to talk up your past. I knew a young man quite like you who did the same thing, yet he was born a slave."

And this is exactly why Isabela was avoiding this woman. "You quite remind me of a Rivaini prostitute I once met in Denerim, but I don't know if that quite means you are similar."

 Wynne merely hummed.

"Ahh, a note!" Isabela called out triumphantly, scooping the errant piece of paper off the desk. She scanned the writing quickly. "Now, this is a note from a shady deal if I've ever seen one."

Wynne, who had come up behind her, squinted at the note. "What makes you say that?"

"Completely vague, very generic information, probably in case it fell into the wrong hands. And it is signed merely 'Your friend'. He doesn't want to implicate himself."

Wynne looked impressed. "You're quite smart even though you seem to hide it a lot."

Isabela snorted. "If there's one thing my mother taught me, it's never show someone your strengths."

Wynne smiled. "Is your mother the one who taught you to read?"

This time Isabela burst out laughing. "No, though that would have been an experience."

"Where is your mother now?" Wynne frowned.

"Probably off having the time of her life scamming unsuspecting people." Isabela turned away from Wynne.

"Do you miss her?" Wynne asked.

"I don't think you can miss someone you never really knew." Isabela walked away before Wynne could keep up this conversation. Thankfully, the woman chose to remain silent for the rest of the time they investigated DuPuis' mansion, even after meeting up with Hawke and Fenris again.

***

Isabela was ready to kill Gascard DuPuis with her own daggers when they finally encountered him. She had met enough slimy rich men in her lifetime to know his type exactly. Fenris also seemed quite keen on the idea of running a blade through the man but Hawke, with her moral, upstanding soul, decided he was better off as a "future resource".

"As happy as I am that we didn't have to fight more demons, I would have liked to decorate my mantle with that man's head." Isabela sharpened her knives as they walked back towards the Hawke Estate.

Hawke sighed. "Isabela, we don't know that he was guilty. I can't just go around killing people for being annoying."

"Why not?"

"Because then we'd have to kill Sebastian, too." Isabela snorted and she heard Wynne say "Hawke..." in a reprimanding tone.

They had almost reached the Hawke Estate when Hawke grabbed Fenris' arm and pulled him forward. "Okay!" she said loudly. "Fenris can walk with me the rest of the way. Isabela, why don't you walk Wynne to the Chantry?"

Isabela smirked. "Now, you two use protection. And don't go too wild, Sandal lives in that house and I don't think he'd understand your explanations."

Fenris and Hawke both went bright red.

"Alright, goodbye!" Isabela said, walking in the direction of the Chantry. _Serves them right for making me a part of their schemes_ , she thought. As they walked, Wynne still remained unnervingly silent. Isabela really hoped she wasn't in for some long moral lecture about loving herself or something like that. She wasn't Merrill, for God's sake.

They reached the Chantry and Wynne turned to her. Isabela braced herself.

"Thank you for walking me home, Isabela." Wynne smiled at her. "If you ever want to talk, I'm always here." And with that, she turned around to open the door.

"Wait, what?" Isabela blurted out, and cursed herself. She never said things impulsively. When Wynne turned back to her, she faltered. "That's... that's it?"

Wynne smiled. "I know you seem to avoid me, and I'm not sure why that is." Isabela looked away from her. "But," Wynne continued. "I just want you to know I'm always here. If you need someone on your side, I'm always going to be here to support you, no questions asked."

Isabela felt... something. "Okay." she said, unsure what else to say.

Wynne smiled at her knowingly, and then went inside.

"Thank you." Isabela muttered to the quiet outside the Chantry.

***

Naishe used to cry. Cry about her mother not coming home. Cry about not having a father. Cry when her mother abandoned her.

Isabela never cried. She didn't cry when her husband mistreated her. She didn't cry when Luis passed her around to his friends like a prostitute. She didn't cry when her ship was wrecked on the shore of Kirkwall. Isabela solved her problems in other ways.

That didn't mean she didn't think about crying sometimes, especially when her situation with Castillon seemed to be growing more and more hopeless.

She did not know if she could trust it or not, but perhaps there was one person who would be on her side at the end of all this.

And if anyone happened to ask, it definitely was not Isabela who picked the pockets of multiple Hightown ladies and left a pile of jewellery and gifts on Wynne's window sill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my pirate wife -R


	7. In Which Aveline is a Wine Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's become a tradition for the moms of the company to get together to drink wine and talk shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lbr, team moms are under a lot of stress and deserve to unwind once in a while. -Styx

How Aveline became team mom when she had no interest in ever having children was anyone’s guess. Travelling to Kirkwall with the Hawkes probably cemented it if she was being honest. The grief and exhaustion had proved almost too much for Leandra, and Aveline had learned early on not to leave the Hawke siblings to their own devices. They could cause a surprising amount of chaos, even in a ship so tightly packed as theirs. It made sense that she just kept going once they reached Kirkwall, and suddenly she had 8 fully grown _children_ to look after, because Hawke collected lost souls like a mage collects resentment.

***

She bypassed the heavy knocker at the door of Hawke estate, rapping her knuckles smartly on the door instead. Bodhan opened the door with his usual cheerful smile.

“They’re waiting in the parlour messere.” He said brightly, relieving her of the wine bottle she carried under her arm. She smiled her thanks and followed him into the parlour.

“Good evening Aveline” said Leandra with a welcoming smile. Wynne and Elthina, seated on either side of her, inclined their heads in greeting. She smiled at them all as she took the remaining seat by the fire. Orana approached them with a tray on which there were four goblets, a bottle of wine and four pieces of cake. She served them with her customary delicate grace before retiring once more into the kitchen. Leandra poured the wine and Wynne passed around the cake.

“Hawke not at home then?” asked Aveline, accepting the goblet Elthina passed to her.

“Wicked Grace.” explained Leandra with an amused quirk of her lips.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should just arrest them and get it over with.” Aveline mused, taking a sip and closing her eyes in pleasure. This was either Leandra or Wynne’s choice, no question about it.

“What for?” asked Wynne, curious.

“Disturbing the peace, brawling, indecent exposure… take your pick.”

Elthina raised an eyebrow amused, and Aveline sighed “Varric, Fenris and Anders, and Isabela. In that order.” Carver used to be included in that list, happy to pick a fight with the “angsty mage and broody elf” (Varric’s words), whenever possible. Maker she never thought she’d miss the little git.

“If you arrest them” said Leandra with a slight smile “I won’t have anywhere to send my daughter when we have nights like this.”

“That’s a good point.” replied Aveline to a chorus of laughter.

***

“So Elthina” said Leandra pouring her second glass of wine and then passing the bottle to the woman in question, who passed it along without refilling her own. She had a one glass rule about their little get-togethers, which worked out well for herself, but not so much for the other ladies. “How is your Sebastian doing?”

The grand cleric smiled, taking a sip of water “He’s opening up more. Your Hawke is good for him.”

“Yes, Hawke does have that effect on people” said Aveline dryly. “But I’d say Alistair has done just as much to help him. The more time they spend together the less condescending he becomes.”

“Let me guess, sarcasm and bad jokes?” said Wynne with fond exasperation.

“Exactly.”

“Yeah that’s how he won us over too.”

“Don’t worry Elthina, a few more years and he’ll be almost normal.”

Elthina hid a giggle behind her hand.

***

“So then, Aeducan just sat at the bottom and waited.” exclaimed Wynne face flushed. They had finished one bottle of wine and had just opened the second. “And Alistair refused to get down from the tree while Sereda was there. Leliana had to entice her away eventually. Sylvia was laughing so hard she’d turned red, and Alistair spent the rest of the day pouting until she agreed that he was, in fact very brave, and yes Aeducan could be very scary sometimes...” She trailed off with a laugh, before sobering. “We were always harder on those two than on Aeducan and Leliana. Because they were both Wardens I suppose. I think they got a lecture on responsibility from nearly everyone in camp.” She sighed. “I remember questioning Sylvia if she’d have the courage to do her duty without allowing her relationship to get in the way. Well. We know how that turned out.” she said ruefully. Elthina wrapped her hand around her arm in silent comfort.

“You meant well, Wynne. We all say things we regret.” said Aveline catching Leandra’s eye. The other woman nodded, a sharp aborted movement, and she knew that they were both thinking of that last day in Fereldan, and the sharp words spoken to one daughter in the loss of the other. Hawke could forgive, but she couldn’t forget. There was silence as three out of the four women drained their glasses as one. Elthina gave a quiet sigh. They were going to regret this in the morning.

***

“His name is Donnic” said Aveline, feeling her already flushed face grow hotter. Leandra and Wynne cooed and Elthina smiled gently. “He’s loyal, and hardworking, and strong, and-”

“Handsome?” interjected Leandra with a sly smile. Wynne giggled.

“Well yes. That too.”

“You should woo him!” Leandra said brightly

“I can’t!” Aveline exclaimed, scandalized “I’m his superior. It would be a gross violation of conduct!”

“Aveline” said Wynne, eyes oddly bright “You _like him_. You should do something about it! Maker knows I’m too old to watch this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ dance again!”

“And what exactly do you propose I do?”

“No idea. Give him flowers maybe?”

Aveline turned to Elthina for help, but the grand cleric just hummed, a mischievous glint in her eye. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

She groaned and buried her head in her hands.

***

Three Wine bottles sat on the table, empty. The fourth had just been opened.

“If you could do one thing in your life without facing any consequences, what would you do?” Leandra asked Wynne, slurring slightly.

“Turn the Circle purple.”

“Why purple?” asked Aveline

“I happen to like it. It’s soothing.”

“Ferelden or Kirkwall?” asked Elthina, curious despite herself.

“Either. Both.” A thoughtful look took over her face “Do you think Merridith would let me turn the Gallows purple?”

“No!” cried out three voices at once.

***

Hawke whistled cheerfully as she crossed the threshold of the manor. She’d had a streak of remarkable luck today, and even having to sit next to Fenris after their… thing wasn’t enough to bring her down. It even made the night a little more interesting, as Alistair deemed it appropriate to pull his protective older brother act, which was equal parts amusing and heart-warming. As she pulled off her boots, she heard voices coming from the parlour and tensed. Her mother had usually retired by this time, and almost everyone who had an open invitation to walk into her house had been with her in the Hanged Man.

“I thought they were insufferable before but now they’re all blustery around each other and it’s driving me up the wall!”

Was that Aveline? Who on earth is she talking to? Or about for that matter?

“Well my daughter has never been one to mince words.”

Aveline was speaking to… her mother? That was odd.

“Honestly Leandra, I might take matters into my own hands.”

“Maybe you should ask _Donnic_ for help.” Interjected a new voice slyly.

“ _Wynne!_ ”

Alright this was too much. Hawke strode into the parlour determined to get an explanation. When she entered she saw three wine flushed faces brighten in tandem.

“Hawke!” slurred Aveline “You’re just in time!”

“Yes dear, we were just talking about you!”

“You and Fenris are driving poor Aveline mad with your dancing about.” added Wynne, in a slightly calmer tone of voice.

Hawke found herself herded into a chair that a chuckling Bodhan had brought in from the library. She looked around and met the eyes of the grand cleric. Because tonight wasn’t bizarre enough already. She seemed to be the most sober of the lot, but Hawke sensed that she wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. Elthina looked far too amused by the entire situation.

“How often do you do this?” Hawke asked the room at large, taking notice of the three and a half empty bottles of wine.

“Once a month.” said Wynne with a slight hiccup.

“What? And I’m only finding out about this now?”

“Well, mothers need their time off too you know.”

“Aveline isn’t even a mother!”

“Of course I am, who do you think keeps you lot out of trouble?”

“This is ridiculous!”

Leandra waved her daughter’s protests aside. “You’re avoiding the important question dear. When are you finally going to do something about that elf of yours?”

“ _Mother!_ ”

“Oh hush. Let an old woman enjoy life once in a while!”

“You’ve definitely been enjoying life without me if those flowers you keep getting are any indication.” muttered Hawke darkly, glaring at the vase on the mantle where the white blooms stood.

“Stop dodging Hawke.” said Aveline. Her stern tone would have been more effective if she wasn’t looking past Hawke’s shoulder as she spoke.

Hawke sighed. “We tried. It didn’t work out.” she said shortly.

“Oh my love.” Leandra pulled her into a hug. Hawke patted her awkwardly on the back.

“Thank you mother. I think.”

Leandra composed herself and Wynne silently passed Hawke the half empty wine bottle before turning back to Aveline.

“Would you rather have a dragon or gryphon as a pet?”

“Oh gryphon for sure.”

Hawke held the bottle loosely in her hand, once again wondering exactly why her life was like this.

***

Aveline had barricaded herself in the guard captain’s room, covered all the windows, and lay her head on her desk. Every time the four women had a day in, three woke up with a hangover, while the fourth smiled beatifically at the rest of them. They honestly should know better by now. Wynne usually came by with a hangover cure later in the day, she just had to hold out until then. There was a sudden banging on the door which matched perfectly with the pounding in her head. She groaned and opened it to find Hawke, Varric, and Isabela on the other side. Hawke refused to meet her eye, and Varric was grinning but Isabela looked furious.

“I cannot believe you have a girl’s night once a month and didn’t invite me!”

“To be fair Rivaini, they didn’t invite Daisy either.”

“Yeah but Hawke got to go!”

“Trust me” moaned Hawke “Hawke didn’t _want_ to go.”

Aveline just groaned and clutched her head. She swore she saw Hawke smirk. Sadist.

“I need you to do me a favour Hawke.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

“I need you to deliver a package. Anonymously. To guardsman Donnic.” Aveline hoped she hadn’t said anything too incriminating on that front last night.

Hawke gave her a searching look before nodding and taking the parcel and heading out of the room, the two rogues in tow. Isabela stopped at the threshold, turned and shouted “I expect an invite next time!”

“Keep expecting!” she grit out, and Isabela smirked at her before hurrying after Hawke.

Aveline shut the door and collapsed at her desk once again, hoping that the next person at the door would be Wynne with her potion.


	8. The Blossoming of White Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Hawke kept her voice firm, though she knew that wasn't fooling Varric. "It's my mother. She's missing."'

Hawke felt stupid. Infinitely stupid. How could she not have noticed it? How could she have been so _blind_? She knocked on the door and hissed as her hand accidentally hit a hang nail on the edge of it. Varric opened the door, his face as playful as ever, but it fell abruptly when he saw Hawke.

"Hawke? Are you alright?"

Hawke kept her voice firm, though she knew that wasn't fooling Varric. "It's my mother. She's missing."

She hadn't been able to voice the words since Gamlen had first showed up at the estate. _Serial killer_. Hawke had, of course, thought Gamlen was there for something else, perhaps to borrow money or be as sleazy as always. In fact, she had only decided to leave her room and pay attention when she heard him start to yell. "Le. An. Dra!" the man was waving his arms radically in front of Sandal's face and Hawke had thought enough is enough.

And then Gamlen had said she was missing and Bodhan mentioned a suitor and everything began to fall into horrifying place. She hadn't seen her mother since the wine night she stumbled on two nights ago, but Hawke was always busy so she figured they just didn't cross paths. It wasn't unheard of. But her missing Gamlen's meeting. Her suitor. _White lilies_.

Hawke wanted to ram her head against a wall. What kind of daughter doesn't notice when her own mother is in danger?

She had gone to Varric first because that was the first person she thought of. Varric always had a solution. Hawke hadn't expected Fenris to be there as well, especially since they had not really talked since that night when he... well, that was unimportant now.

"Hawke, do you need to sit down?" Fenris asked and Hawke almost yelled at him but just managed to hold herself back. These were her friends, they only wanted what was best for her. But that wasn't what was best for her mother.

"I just..." she looked at Varric. “A man was sending her lilies." Varric and Fenris both paled. "I thought you would know what to do." She wondered if she sounded as helpless as she felt because Varric's face immediately resolved into determination.

"We need to go to Aveline." he said.

 ***

In retrospect, the clues as they walked through the warehouse were revealing of what they were going to find, but Hawke supposed her mind simply refused to deal with it. All she knew was that she had to keep going. Gascard DuPuis waiting there for them should have also been a clue, but at the moment, Hawke had not even cared. And then by the time his deception had been revealed, Varric had killed him. Hawke felt like she had gone on autopilot, up until seeing the horrifying monstrosity that bastard had created.

And after that, all Hawke remembered was blind rage. Her companions hadn't even been able to properly get in range of a fight, as Hawke cast blizzards and firestorms, explosions and lightning raining all around her. And then Mother was in her arms but it still wasn't _enough_.

Hawke didn't remember getting home, but she assumed someone must have led her back as she woke up in her own bed.

She sat, staring at the fire in the Hawke estate, her hands itching for something, to do something. She did not know how much time had passed when she heard Gamlen heavy footsteps entering the house. "Did you find her?" His voice sounded so desperate, so... hopeful, and Hawke was painfully reminded of what Carver was like in the weeks after Bethany had died.

Hawke swallowed bitterly. "She's dead. Murdered."

There was a long silence. And then Gamlen was raging. "Why her? Why Leandra?" Hawke shook her head.

"The killer used Mother to try to bring back his dead wife. They had the same..." Hawke couldn't get rid of the disgusting taste in her mouth. "face."

"What sort of nightmarish magic is that?" Gamlen was pacing now. Hawke somehow couldn't bring herself to move. "Oh, Maker. Maybe the templars are right! Lock the mages up, throw away the key!" Hawke remained silent. "All magic brings is ruin! It's a curse."

Hawke let out a slow breath. "Perhaps." she near whispered.

Gamlen turned to her. "I hope you killed him." She nodded. "Good," Gamlen hissed. "I hope it hurt." After a long moment of silent pacing, Gamlen eventually let out a tired sigh. "Someone needs to inform Carver. You have enough on your plate."

"No, Uncle," Gamlen looked over at her and she finally stood and moved towards him. "I should be the one to tell him."

Gamlen seemed... almost concerned. "Are you sure?"

Hawke let out a shaky breath. "He asked me to take care of her. I'm sure."

Gamlen nodded. "Then, I suppose I can go make arrangements for the funeral."

Hawke couldn't bring herself to say anything else.

***

_Dear Carver,_

Hawke knew her hands were shaking but she couldn't seem to control them. She put the quill down, before her jitters managed to knock over the ink as well. How does one even begin to tell their sibling that they've lost one more person? Hawke's heart felt heavy. She had failed him, just as she had failed her mother, and Bethany, and Father.

She picked the quill up again.

_This is the worst letter I could ever have to write to you. I know you don't like when I drag things out, so I'll just say it. Mother is dead._

Her hands were trembling again, but Hawke was determined to press forward.

_I don't know ~~why I~~ why Kirkwall is so accursed for our family. _

Her trembling hand flicked the ink off the end of the quill, creating a large dark spot at the end of the sentence she had just written and Hawke groaned, slamming the quill down. She stood abruptly. "I can't even write a letter properly!" she yelled aloud to the empty room. She picked up the paper and stomped towards the fireplace, throwing it roughly into the flames. Hawke stared at the flickering orange and red consuming the page, before sinking into the arm chair softly and putting her head in her hands.

***

Wynne wondered whether it was appropriate to try to visit Hawke so soon after she had heard what happened, given that she didn't even know whether Hawke had woken up yet. Varric had told her he had walked Hawke back to the estate and gotten her up to her bed before the mage had all but passed out while still standing. Varric had tried to stay there and guard the door with Bianca at his side, but she assumed Bodhan had made him go get rest as well.

It wasn't as if they weren't all feeling the effects of Leandra's death.

Wynne shook her head. She had been taken in one of the most awful ways Wynne had ever heard, and she had seen a lot of death in her life.

Wynne was sure the rest of Hawke's motley crew was bound to make an appearance at some point, given how much they all cared for her. But they might wait too long out of a sense of propriety, and Wynne knew what those first few moments after losing a loved one could do to you. She wondered if Hawke would be more like Aeducan after she had realized her father had died - emotionless, withdrawn and angry - or more like Tabris when she had nearly lost her father to slavers - sullen and sad and silent, with a tension that never seemed to leave her shoulders for the next few weeks.

Or perhaps she would be more like Alistair after what happened to Duncan - in a constant state of avoidance, and pretending the tragedy never happened, until they had found Duncan's shield. Wynne believed that might have been the first time she had seen one of their group cry.

Wynne arrived at the Hawke Estate, determined to take on whatever form of grief manifested itself in Hawke and surprised to see Fenris. He was standing in front of the door looking unsure. Wynne watched as he raised a hand to knock, before shaking his head and bring it back down. Fenris shuffled his feet and Wynne asked "Are you planning to just stand there?" The elf jumped and pivoted, his hand flying to the sword at his side, but relaxed upon seeing Wynne.

"No, I was just planning on leaving." Fenris grumbled, moving to go down the steps. Wynne rushed forward.

"Oh, no you don't!" she exclaimed, pushing the struggling elf back up the stairs and knocking on the door loudly.

Fenris struggled in her grip. "Hawke doesn't want to see me! This was a stupid idea anyway!"

"No, Hawke needs you now more than ever." she gave him a disapproving look. "And if you really wanted to leave and not see how she's doing, I know you could easily escape from me right now."

Fenris look dumbfounded at her, before eventually giving up his struggling to slump against the wall, almost as if he was trying to hide from sight. Bodhan opened the door.

"Oh, messares!" Bodhan seemed relieved to see them. "Thank god you're here. I haven't seen Messare Hawke move in over an hour and I was getting worried."

"Haven't seen her move?" Wynne asked, stepping inside as Bodhan opened the door for them. Fenris moved in silently behind her.

Bodhan nodded. "She sat in front of the fireplace quite a while ago, but she won't respond to anything. I can't even get her to eat something!"

" _Venhedis_." Fenris muttered and Wynne didn't understand Tevene but she quite agreed.

"I can try to talk to her," she told Bodhan, moving towards the main parlor room. And as the dwarf had told them, they found Hawke, sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, her head in her hands, unmoving.

"Hawke?" she asked, moving close to the young mage's shoulder. No response. "Hawke, can you look at me?" she put a hand on the shoulder expecting at least a flinch but there was nothing. Wynne watched as Fenris moved slowly in front of Hawke and squatted so he would be eye level if she ever looked up. He didn't say anything, merely placed a hand on her knee.

Ever so slowly, Hawke seemed to take a breath and look up, directly into Fenris' eyes. "Hello," she whispered and the elf merely smiled slightly.

"Hawke?" Wynne asked again, and Hawke turned away from Fenris to look at her, as if surprised Wynne was even in the room.

"Hi, Wynne." Hawke said. Her voice was louder now but still sounded flat and almost emotionless.

"What are you doing?" Wynne asked. She noticed Fenris had not moved from in front of Hawke.

"I have to write a letter to Carver." Hawke said. Wynne wondered if Hawke knew her hands were trembling. She didn't seem to be acknowledging it.

"Would you like one of us to do it instead, dear?" Wynne asked, gently. Hawke definitely needed to get more rest. Wynne guessed that Hawke might be going into shock but if she did not take care of herself, this would only get worst.

Those words seemed to shake Hawke from her state because she suddenly shrugged off their hands and stood up from her chair. "No, I should do it." She crossed the room to the desk before they could stop her and took a seat. Hawke picked up the quill, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment to write on even as her hands trembled. "Hawke," Wynne said, stepping forward. "Hawke," she repeated, as the mage seemed to ignore her. Hawke dropped the quill abruptly and cursed. "Hawke, stop, this isn't good for you."

"I just can't do it." Hawke whispered, almost to herself. Wynne saw Fenris stiffen in the corner of her eye, but still he didn't say anything.

"Hawke, what is wrong?" Wynne asked.

There was a long pause of silence. "It's my fault." said Hawke, finally.

"What is your fault?" asked Wynne.

"It's my fault she's dead." Hawke said. "I didn't stop it. I didn't protect her."

Wynne made a tsk-ing noise. "You can't save everyone, Hawke."

"But I should have known better!" Hawke's voice was growing in pitch, becoming shriller with her stress building. "Maybe magic is a curse." she said, shaking her head.

It seemed Wynne was wrong when she wondered who Hawke would be like in her grief. Wynne remembered a time, as a young mage, when she had lost her own child. And she had spent months blaming her own reckless stupidity, and her own inability to protect her son. It seemed Hawke was most like Wynne, herself.

"What are you talking about?" Wynne asked.

Hawke smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "Magic has brought nothing but ruin to my family. Father died because of it, Bethany was killed, Carver thought he needed to leave because of it, now Mother..." Hawke's fists clenched. "It's hurt my friends too! Merrill, Anders... Fenris." She made eye contact with the elf now, and Fenris held her gaze unflinchingly.

Wynne wasn't sure what to say but surprisingly, this was the moment Fenris chose to speak up. " _Festis bei umo canavarum_ , Hawke." Fenris shook his head, ruefully, walking towards Hawke. "You are nothing like the mages and abominations who cause such pain. You are nothing like Quentyn. If you were, I would not be here."

Hawke let out a small laugh this time. "You weren't here. You left."

This time, Fenris did flinch, but he hid it very well. "I am here now." Slowly, Fenris reached out a hand and Hawke clasped her own hand in his gratefully.

"Hawke," Wynne said, breaking their moment which reminded her quite sharply of another human and elf couple she knew quite well. "Would you like to tell me what to write and I can write the words?"

Hawke didn't seem completely pleased, but eventually she nodded in consent. Wynne pulled up a chair to the desk and picked up the quill.

And later, after the letter to Carver was finished (along with an added note at the bottom Hawke did not ask her to write which urged the boy to come visit his sister), Wynne finally thought to tell Hawke that she was, in fact, allowed to cry. And Hawke did, curled up against Wynne, her hand still clasped in Fenris'. And when Hawke finally fell asleep, Wynne left her with Fenris and she watched with a small smile as the elf did his best to shift Hawke into a comfortable position with his hand still trapped in hers.

She was not even surprised to find Varric outside Hawke's bedroom, slumped against the wall, with Bianca ready in his hand, but fast asleep. She simply informed Bodhan to keep an eye on the dwarf and took her leave to return to the Chantry. 

There was no easy way to overcome grief, but perhaps what all the scripture said was true. The Maker does everything for a reason. As cruel as what happened to Leandra was, when one love leaves, another blossoms. Wynne could only hope that Fenris and Hawke did not end up like the couple they reminded her of.

Or perhaps, Wynne hoped that Alistair and Sylvia could learn to forgive and understand each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry -R


	9. Wynne has had Enough of Reckless Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric deals with this stressful time the only way he can think of, and that is throwing himself head first into problems so that Hawke doesn't have to. Wynne is getting real tired of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there are doctors in this universe because we say so. Blight doctors. Like the plague doctors of old. -Styx

Hawke bodily tackled the mercenary to the ground, nearly knocking Aveline down with them, and ended up with her knee on his chest and her staff at his throat.

“Hawke, I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to use that magic stick of yours!” shouted Varric from a safe distance.

“I don’t care!” Hawke yelled back, and Varric winced.

It had been weeks since Leandra’s death and obviously, it had hit Hawke hard. It had taken a few days, and Wynne and Aveline gently reminding her that she had a household to take care of, for her to leave the manor at all. And even then it was to go out on a few jobs, earn some coin and retreat back into her room. She had almost stopped eating. Orana had nearly broken down the third day the soup was left untouched. Fenris had taken to spending nights in her parlour, within shouting distance when the nightmares came. And in battles, well. Hawke had never been one to take battles seriously. She was always ready with a fireball to be sure, but she was also just as likely to hit an enemy with a barbed comment or witty one-liner. Lately though, those comments had dried up, and were often replaced with pure, unadulterated _rage_. She’d become more reckless, throwing herself into fights without a second thought, doing stupid things like body slamming mercenaries.

Varric shot an arrow through the woman trying to sneak up behind Hawke. Honestly he was beginning to feel like he was getting too old for this shit.

***

“This is getting out of hand Wynne.” grumbled Varric from his position on Hawke’s kitchen counter. The two of them, along with Aveline, had taken up Hawke watching duty. Fenris was usually around somewhere too, but at this point that was a given. “Are you sure she’ll be fine out there?”

“Of course.” said Wynne, helping herself to a cheese sandwich “I sent Alistair with them to keep an eye on her. You and I need to talk.”

“My goodness, Doc, are you breaking up with me?”

Wynne gave him a _look_ , and Varric grinned at her.

“I mean to say, I don’t think Hawke’s the only one who’s been affected by this, do you?”

“What? Like how Broody and Blondie are fighting less?” Well neither of them wanted to upset Hawke so the fights had gone down in favour of just ignoring each other for the most part. Varric was willing to look at that as progress. “Or maybe how Merrill’s been a little less spacey? Or how Isabela’s been hyper focused on something that she doesn’t seem to want to tell anyone about?”

Wynne’s impressed look bordered on insulting. “What?” he said defensively “I keep an eye on my kids.”

Wynne smirked and he realized what he’d just said. “Friends. I keep an eye on my friends.”

“Well.” said Wynne, not dropping her smirk in the slightest “While you’ve been keeping an eye on your _kids_ , I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“I never realized you felt that way, Doc, but I’m afraid my taste is not nearly so mature.”

“Be serious.”

“Never.”

“Varric.”

“Fine, what have you noticed about me during your eagle-eyed surveillance?”

“That you got in between Hawke and dragonling yesterday in the bone pit.”

“One day’s misadventures does not a detailed observation make.”

“Oh Maker, why are you always so difficult? In the last week alone you’ve taken at least 6 hits for Hawke. Three of them were actually serious. I’m tired of patching up reckless dwarves.”

“How many reckless dwarves have you known in your life?”

“Three.”

“Huh. I wasn’t really expecting an answer.”

“ _Varric_.”

“I just don’t want her hurt.” He focused on the bowl of soup in front of him rather than look Wynne in the eye. The look he saw when he risked a glance up was too understanding to be comfortable.

“None of us do.” came the quiet reply.

***

Carver came home and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. He stalked into the parlour in full armour with a stuttering Bodhan scurrying in behind him and locked eyes with Varric and Fenris, who were frozen in shock in the midst of their card game. Wynne looked up from her book in surprise. He nodded at them. A distant rumble of thunder broke the pause. Hawke, roused by such unusual noise in a house that was lately far too silent, was half way down the stairs, hands at her staff before she registered the sight in front of her and halted in her tracks.

“Sister.”

Hawke’s breath hitched, and in the next moment she was in his arms sobbing into his shoulder, ignoring the uncomfortable points of the Grey Warden armour, mumbling a series of jumbled words and phrases that may have been apologies. And Carver finally lost his calm veneer and hugged her close, looking lost and so impossibly _young_ that the three observers had to look away. With a bit of prompting from Fenris he gently untangled his sister and led her, still sniffling, back to her room to talk. Varric couldn’t have written it better himself.

***

Carver joined the two of them hours later, sans the armour, which Varric was sure was discarded where someone could easily trip over it, if past experience was anything to go by.

“Deal me in?” he asked as he collapsed into a chair with and exhausted sigh.

Varric did, and Wynne took the opportunity to give him a discreet once over from her corner. The years had changed him for the better it seemed. He was more confident, less defensive than Alistair and Hawke’s accounts had painted him.

“How’re you holding up, Junior?” asked Varric as he dealt.

Another sigh. “I don’t know. I thought I had my time to get over it you know, away from everything. Sort out my grief and come home.” He raked a hand through his hair “She told me what happened, all of it, and she still blames herself, that stupid, stubborn sister of mine. When I heard what that bastard did-” his voice broke as he trembled with fury. He composed himself with a dark laugh.

“I used to be so jealous of Beth and Sis growing up, you know? How come they have all these powers while I got nothing? Father would take them aside and teach them to hone these special skills and I used to practice with a sword by myself over and over and over until I became good, really good. Father was so proud. He told me that I needed to use my sword to help my sisters, and I remember thinking ‘who needs a sword when you can throw fireballs?’” Carver was staring at the cards in his hand, voice wavering ever so slightly. “I didn’t realise until recently that magic is often more a curse than a blessing. It didn’t have to be, but with people like this Quentin- Sis thinks that she could have stopped him. If she’d just thrown one more fireball or been quicker with a lightning strike, that she could have saved our mother. She thinks she’s cursed because she couldn’t do it. I disagree. I think it’s because she’ll always be thinking there’s something she could have done to prevent it.” When he looked at the two of them his eyes were watery. “I guess I’m not used to being the stronger Hawke.”

They played the rest of the hand in silence, before Carver composed himself enough to speak again.

“Sis told me everything by the way, what all I’ve missed.” He kept his eyes deliberately locked on Fenris. Varric would later swear he saw the elf gulp nervously. Fenris would furiously deny this claim. Carver gave a small smile. “Thank you for getting your head out of your ass.” he said, eyes never once leaving the elf’s face, “And before I leave, I’m going to make it very clear why you’re never going to pull a stunt like that again.”

Fenris choked on his wine, and Varric and Wynne avoided each other’s eyes lest they burst out laughing. Alistair would be happy, Wynne thought, to find out that the boy had grown up quite a bit among the Grey Wardens.

***

Varric lay on a bed in Anders’ clinic, clutching his arm and groaning.

“Give it to me straight, Doc, how long do I have?”

“You’re not funny.” said Wynne primly, poking at the afflicted limb. Varric winced and Wynne had to fight to bubble of satisfaction. Good healers do not take pleasure in their patient’s suffering, she reminded herself, even if the patient himself was insufferable. Instead she asked “What was it this time?”

“Got in a friendly competition with some other archers.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they wanted to see if they could hit a moving target, so I volunteered to be that target.”

“And were there any other potential marks in this impromptu target practice?”

“Maybe?”

“And would that mark maybe be a charismatic young lady who shares her name with a bird?”

“… I’m gonna choose not to answer that.”

“Varric, this needs to stop.”

“You’re not my real mother.”

“I could just stop healing you.”

“You wouldn’t. You’d miss my ruggedly handsome face too much.”

“I’m getting far too old to be dealing with reckless dwarves.”

“Catchy. You should embroider that on a throw-pillow.”

“Maybe I will.”

***

Hawke danced out of the way of the nasty hex thrown at her by the current demon-crazed mage they were fighting in yet another abandoned warehouse.

“Oh come on! Is that the best you can do? I can aim better after Wicked Grace night at the hanged man!”

Varric, from his vantage point on top of a crate, froze. Fenris nearly lost his arm to the Shade he was fighting, he faltered so badly. Isabela pulled her daggers out of a rage demon and pumped her fist in the air. This was the most jovial thing Hawke had said in months. Not that she noticed, she was too busy setting the maleficar on fire. The others shared a secret grin.

***

So he had found Bartrand. Things had been going well. Hawke had been healing, they all had. No need to make this a big deal. Hawke had already been through so much. He could handle a visit to his brother on his own.

***

Varric skulking around Hightown was nothing new. Varric skulking around Hightown without an entourage was highly suspicious. Wynne had not been joking about keeping an eye on him. He had been throwing himself in harm’s way more and more often of late, and frankly, the way he surreptitiously glanced both ways before pushing open a decrepit mansion door and entering alone was enough to send her running to Hawke. Enough was enough.

She burst through the door rounding on a flustered Bodhan, who merely pointed at the library. She found Hawke penning a letter to her brother, whom she had promised to write so long as he wrote back. Wynne’s certainty that she looked dreadful was confirmed when Hawke took one glance at her and paled.

“Who’s dead?” she blurted out.

“What? No one, at least I don’t think so. I hope not. It’s just… Varric.”

Hawke, who had just begun to relax, stiffened again and said “Start from the beginning.”

It took her a while, too long, to explain things. The worry they all felt for Hawke, Varric’s increasingly reckless behaviour, and his sudden suspicious actions. Wynne hated to bring this to Hawke, the poor girl was only just starting to return to the way she was before Leandra died, but if anyone could reason with Varric in this state, it would be her.

Hawke’s eyes shone with fury. “I’m going after him.” she said with certainty “And he better not be dead when I get there or by the Maker I’ll find a way to bring him back so I can kill him myself! Who’s the closest?” she asked, grabbing her staff.

It took Wynne a moment to understand the question, but when she did she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. At least Hawke wasn’t stupid enough to do this alone. “Fenris, Alistair, and Sebastian.” Hawke nodded and strode purposefully out the door.

***

In hindsight, going after Bartrand alone was a stupid idea. He was lucky to have even made it to his brother without getting killed by that house of horrors. When Hawke and the others had found him, he was seconds away from shooting his own brother. He would have done it too. Then Hawke was there, putting herself bodily between the two, back to Varric. She wasn’t stupid. She could only trust one of them not to shoot when her back was turned.

“He’s your brother, Varric.”

“He’s a traitor.”

“He’s _family_ ”

“He’s dangerous. Look around you Hawke, look at what he’s done.”

“Varric, _listen to him_. He sounds ill. If he weren’t a dwarf, I’d say he was possessed.”

“Then let me put him out of his misery.”

“Or, I can put him to sleep.”

“I don’t think the phrasing really matters in this scenario Hawke.”

If she’d been facing him he was sure he would have seen her roll her eyes. “I meant literally to sleep. We can take him to Anders, and then if he says there’s nothing we can do, you can shoot him. Deal?”

“… Deal.”

Travelling to Darktown with an unconscious dwarf over Alistair’s shoulder resulted in some very strange looks being thrown in their direction, but Varric was too shaken to really care. When Anders told him that there was a way, even temporarily, to heal Bartrand, a weight was lifted from his chest that he didn’t even know was there. Hawke caught his eye and smiled.

***

“This is getting out of hand, Doc.” said Varric from his position on the kitchen counter. “How much more chocolate can we even add to this cake?”

“Word of advice Varric, more chocolate is always better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Why do we keep rewarding Hawke with food anyway? ‘Your broody boyfriend was stupid again? Here Hawke, have some cookies.’ ‘Thank you for pulling my son out of a well! Here have some mutton!’ ‘Hooray, we didn’t die today, hey Hawke let’s get some stew at the Hanged Man!’”

“You go to the Hanged Man for stew? Alistair tells me it’s terrible. And that’s coming from Alistair, the boy will it anything so long as it’s not gone completely off.”

“I was running out of ideas towards the end. Still it’s strange. I’ll have to reflect this when I pen my epic biography of her valiant deeds.”

Wynne raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who wanted me to help you make her a thank you cake.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh so you do have a point?”

“That was uncalled for.”

Wynne laughed. “Why are we doing this in Hawke's kitchen? Doesn’t it mean more risk of her finding out what you’re up to?”

“Nah, Hawke never comes in here. Besides, Rivaini was waiting for her in the parlour, so that should keep her busy enough even when she does leave her room.”

“I wish I could argue with that logic.”

“I _am_ a master of debate.” he said, choosing to ignore Wynne’s disbelieving snort “So are we done?”

“I think so.” Wynne replied, dusting off her floury hands. “Are you sure you don’t want to give this to her yourself?”

“Nah, I think she’ll understand when she reads the card.”

“Ah yes, the ‘Thank you for not letting me do the stupid thing’ card. I must say Varric, your gift for words is incomparable.”

Varric gave a small seated bow before jumping off the counter. “If we’re done lets go. Places to be, people to see.”

Wynne took off her borrowed apron and folded it neatly across the back of a chair before following Varric to the front entrance. They passed Aveline on their way out, who nodded at them before striding towards the parlour. Varric could already hear the beginnings of an argument between her and Isabela, and allowed himself a small grin. Things were finally getting back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for Wynne guys!!! If you want to know where we're going in the future for the Kirkwall gang, well look at the ending gain and try to figure out what comes next in canon. We're going to keep updating Tabris and Aeducan in the meantime, so keep an eye on that. And of course, a huge thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting on this fic, y'all are awesome! -Styx

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to follow our tumblrs or just come yell about this fic in our inboxes (which is completely allowed and probably encouraged), here they are - R: jonssnark and Styx: demisexualmerrill
> 
> jsyk, reviews will definitely make the authors smile like idiots for the rest of the day.


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